


All the World’s a Trap

by dreamerfound



Series: The Other Side of Midnight [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Aziraphale/Crowley, Gen, Hellhounds, Minor Character(s), POV Minor Character, Podfic Welcome, lurking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerfound/pseuds/dreamerfound
Summary: Hastur hadn't been sent here to spy on the traitors, but he hadn't been sent not to spy on them either.





	All the World’s a Trap

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Corvidian for the beta read. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> written for: fan_flashworks challenge #274: It's a Trap  
and trope_bingo round #13 : prompt: minor characters

Hastur shoved a vinegar-soaked chip in his mouth and scowled. He was being punished. He’d spent the better part of the last hour lurking pointlessly in the shadows outside the bookshop. It was cold, rainy and stupid. Everything was stupid. He hated it here. He picked up the strange breaded fish thing and gave it a sniff. He’d tasted it earlier and decided it wasn’t for him. He tossed it in the air and the hellhound caught it and gobbled it in one bite.

Being a Duke of Hell used to mean something. Now it meant absolutely nothing. His thankless hard work over the years was all for naught, and it was entirely Crowley's fault. He'd set that holy water trap for them, and now Ligur was dead and Hastur was stuck with this bollocks assignment. He'd liked Ligur. Well, liked was probably too strong a word. He'd tolerated Ligur's presence in a companionable way and that was a rare thing. 

He should have known that Crowley would lay a trap, he was a bloody snake after all. Hastur had never liked the flash bastard. He'd always been too keen on himself, always thinking he was better than the rest of them.

Hastur's new assignment was on Earth, and he hated it. He hated it everywhere, but this place was teeming with humans and he really hated humans, almost as much as he hated Crowley. 

“Sorry excuse for a demon,” Hastur said out loud. The dog growled in agreement. He tossed her the rest of the chips. 

She was small for a hellhound but pretty good company. They had called her defective. More grey than black, one ear that flopped over and a limp from when one of her siblings crushed her leg when fighting for milk. She’d been the runt of the litter and deemed unworthy for breeding. They were going to let her littermates eat her, but Hastur had felt -- well feelings and had asked if he could keep her. So he wouldn’t be completely alone here on Earth. It was stupid, but Beelzebub had said yes -- well, had said, “Whatever, just get out of my face and go” but it was basically the same thing.

Crowley, the red-haired tosser, was currently standing around inside the angel’s bookshop. He wasn’t even doing anything interesting. Just drinking wine and talking to the angel. Aziraphale, the angel that had rebelled against Heaven and didn't even Fall; what the Heaven was all that about? Hastur lit a cigarette and inhaled. He hated the both of them. He blew out a stream of smoke at the window and frowned. 

Hastur hadn't been sent here to spy on the traitors, but he hadn't been sent not to spy on them either. His official job was to take Crowley's place for a while, be resident demon on the planet. Him, a Duke of Hell, stationed in this repugnant place for the indeterminate future. It was an embarrassment. He was so obviously being punished despite Lord Beelzebub's words to the contrary. Hastur took another drag of his cigarette and glared through the grimy window. 

“It could be another trap.” 

The dog whined, obviously agreeing with him. She didn’t have a name yet. Hastur had never named anything before and he was having a hard time making a decision. It felt too important.

Hell could be trying to trip him up, to give themselves an excuse to get rid of him. Hastur had been the only one to argue against leaving Crowley alone. He'd wanted to start an investigation and find another way to punish the wayward demon. Just because holy water didn't work on him, didn't mean he was invincible. But no, all they wanted was to sweep the whole thing under the rug for a millennia or two; pretend none of it ever happened. Cowards, the lot of them.

He growled and tossed his cigarette butt on the sidewalk. There wasn't anything he could do about it right now. He cast another look through the bookshop's window. The two were touching again. They did that with baffling frequency. This time they were touching lips. What even was that?

“Disgusting,” he spat.

The dog made a noise that was equal parts bark and growl. Hastur gave her head a rub and pulled a flask out from his jacket. There were a few things about the world he liked, and alcohol was most of them. He took a slug of the acrid liquid and leaned against the wall. He needed a plan. He was tired of towing the company line, tired of working hard for no reason and nothing to show for it. If these two could figure a way out, so could he. He lit another cigarette and pushed off from the wall. 

“Come on girl, time to go.”

He'd be back to spy on the traitors later. For now, he had a temptation to do on the other side of the city. There was no rest for the wicked and no respite for the damned.


End file.
